Beach, babes, beers and (volley)balls. #chicagosummer
Post Memorial Day it really starts to feel like summer in Chicago. It hasn’t snowed in at least three weeks. The tulips are in full bloom. The beaches are packed with bitties and bros drinking Four Loko and playing volleyball. (For those of you who are not familiar with Four Loko, click here. And for those who are familiar, click here).
Even though it’s been years since I’ve been out of school, the summer months still signal a sense of vacation and freedom, especially in the city of Chicago. After putting up with treacherous winter conditions, negative bijillion degree weather and polar vortex madness, Chicagoans are more than ready to emerge from hibernation, tropical boozy drink in hand and welcome the sunshine.
In my school days I remember the build up of excitement as we counted down to the last day of school. I think back to those last weeks of college in Madison, Wisconsin and remember what it felt like to get pumped up for summer break. That undeniable sense of freedom quickly approaching. As our formative and debaucherous college years came to a close we laughed; we cried; we partied our nuts off. The week before graduation kicked off unofficial Senior Week. Ohhh Senior Week. College seniors’ excuse to drink too much and act like fools before graduation (like we really needed an excuse).
Bacon. Beer. Beautiful. Looking good with that double fist combo, H-Bomb!
For seniors that meant a lineup of planned activities: Spring Formal, Senior Bar Crawl, final exams, thesis papers, etc. My own personal itinerary included: drinking too many PBRs and eating too much* bacon at Wando’s Beer & Bacon Night; going to every late night food spot around Madison and stuffing my face with greasy calzones and steamed dumplings at 3 in the morning; showing up incredibly hungover to Astronomy class and falling asleep when the professor turned the lights off in the planetarium lecture hall. There was also a lot of reminiscing: “Remember that time Freshman year when you made out with a midget in front of the dorms?”; “What about when you woke up with a taco bell chalupa in your purse“; “Remember Exotic George, that stripper we rented who got wasted off our booze and hung out on the couch for hours trying to talk girls into giving him a hand job?.” Memories, y’all.
Senior Bar Crawl 2k8. Game faces. Or whatever you want to call those faces.
In true classy form, Spring Formal was a shit show filled with flasks, chugging vodka in the woman’s bathroom and booty grinding with our dates to Usher party jams. Less I forget the sloppy inhaling of mashed potatoes from the late night dinner buffet. Nothing says “celebrating the culmination of the last four years of college” than binge drinking, dry humping someone else’s date and pounding creamy starch.
The Senior Bar Crawl was a beautiful disaster fueled by too many tequilla shots, lowered inhibitions and drunk 22 year olds wearing matching t-shirts and sombreros. The evening may or may not have ended in sake bombs and Wilson Phillips karaoke. I’d be lying if I said this was the first time my college friends and I were incredibly inappropriate and offensive in public.
Upon finishing my last final around 11:00am I gleefully bounded across campus to the drinking establishment I worked at my senior year. I saddled up to the bar by myself and had my first celebratory draft beer. One beer quickly turned into 5 which then turned into White Russians which then turned into shots of Jameson. (You only graduate from undergrad once, people). Friends and colleagues stopped into the bar and came and went throughout the course of the day and we drank and laughed and cheers’d to our accomplishments. In a haze of joy (and slight inebriation) I looked down at my cell phone to check the time and realized I had 5 missed calls from my Mom. Oh shit. My family was driving from Illinois that afternoon and scheduled to arrive a little after 5pm. The day had quickly gotten away from me. It was a few minutes before 5:00pm and I had been drinking for 6 hours. Whoopsie daisy.
Making our mothers proud.
My parents have never truly understood my enthusiasm for adult beverages. For those who know my Mom, Dana (who I refer to lovingly as Danamal) know that she does not drink booze. Danamal has never been drunk before. I kid you not. And for those who know me refuse to believe this is true. I think it’s because it’s hard to understand how such a pure, kind, sober woman produced offspring with an affinity for beer bongs and shots of whiskey. That being said, when my family pulled up to the bar that evening I could read the slight horror on Danamal’s face. I love that woman so much and I still feel awful for some of the ridiculousness I’ve put her through over the years. Add driving 4 hours to what you think will be congratulating your mature, grown-up first born on successfully graduating from a notable university but finding said first born wasted at a bar in the middle of the day to the list. To add insult to injury I somehow talked my Dad into taking the first and only shot we’ve ever shared together. My father enjoys the occasional beer or glass of wine but is not one to knock back Jameson shots. I was bringing my Dad over to the dark side and I’m sure Danamal was not pleased.
In the end, my mild hangover was not enough to keep me from walking down the aisle at the Kohl Center in my handsome cap and gown and accepting my diploma.** Summer was now officially underway and so was the next chapter of my life.
*There is no such thing as too much bacon.
**Come to think of it, my diploma wasn’t even in the leather trapper keeper they hand you when you get on stage. I actually don’t know if I ever got a diploma…did I really graduate…??
References:
Thanks to my friends who let me use pics from their Facebook albums. And by ‘let’ I mean ‘I just used them without asking but I’m sure it’s cool.’ Love you guys.
Young, Drunk and Hungry 